The inside of the house was covered in dust from the roof break accident. The scene was messy, but fortunately, there was no other damage.

After sweeping up the dust, Dylan helped me remove the fallen branches from the roof. Now one side of the roof was dented and the fallen tree was still there.

Luckily, the house was left standing.

***********************

As usual, I would sell herbs at the market, although I didn't earn much but it was enough to afford for a small meal.

Every time, I would stop by the old library. I didn't have the conditions to go to the academy like my peers, so whenever I had the chance, the shabby library at the end of the village was the only place I could learn interesting things. I would mainly read about herbs, learning more about their various uses. But sometimes I might also find a few books on ancient story, about mages, about the legend of the Lost Eyes.

The Legend of the Lost Eyes is an ancient legend, it is also the origin of the North-South war.

Legend tells of the first dragon. In the dawn of creation, when heaven and earth were formed, dragons were hailed as the most fearsome beings. Their destruction was a tempest without end.

The First Dragon, a dragon that was the largest of all, its scales shimmering blood-red with golden eyes blazing like suns. Its breath was a tempest of heat, capable of melting the hardest mountains. There was not a single creature that had not heard of him. Fear gripped the land under his reign, as no one dared to question his authority. He was once a fierce king.

Until one day, a white wolf with sparkling blue eyes, reflecting the vastness of the sea appeared. A spark of tenderness ignited within the dragon's heart, drawn by the innocence of this small creature.

A love story, as beautiful as a dream, blossomed between them, despite the difference in species.

Yet, no love, however magical, last forever. One bitter winter night brought their tale to a tragic end, the dragon's screams echoed in anguish. His eyes were gouged out as the wolf vanished, without a trace. Leaving not a whisper of its presence.

The Dragon went mad, stumbled out of the cave, he groped his way forward, lost in the darkness. His rage fueled a destructive fire that consumed everything around. Half of the forest in the South was engulfed in flames, leaving it a charred wasteland. Betrayed and broken, his heart shattered, driving him to tears until his final breath. The crimson torrent that flowed from his wounds merged with the flames, forming a river of blood continues to course through the edge of the scorched forest.

The legend left a curse passed down to the next generation of dragons. Cursed that they would never feel the warmth in their hearts, forever suffering from a painful cold for a thousand years.

Legend has it that the world was beholden to her. Thanks to the wolf, the rampage of dragons was brought to an end. Light once again filled the world, finding solace in peace.

But because of that, Wolf and Dragon have been enemies ever since. They believe that somewhere in this land of the North still holds the lost eyes.

Dragon, a creature of eternal flame, stands in stark contrast to the wolf, a symbol of eternal ice. We are opposite species.

Mages are considered to be exceptional people with the ability to use magic. There are many types of magic such as offensive, defensive and even forbidden magic. Most of the rest are just able to transform into animal forms. They are our most formidable line of defense against the dragon threat. But the number of mages is becoming rarer over time.

I continued to get lost in the stories of the ancient until the sun began to hide behind the mountains. As the sun set below the horizon, a warm glow washed over the village, as small lights were lit along the way.

Today I used the little money I earned to buy a loaf of bread and jam, I wanted something better than the daily potatoes.

The way home didn't take long. It warmed my heart to think about how happy Dylan would be to know that we would have a decent meal today. We haven't had a full meal since last year.

But as I got closer to the house, I realized that the inside was deserted. The emptiness was palpable, a cold silence that echoed through the rooms.

"Dylan? Where did this brat go again?"

Walked around the house. I tried to find where my brother was hiding. He wouldn't usually go out after six o'clock at night, not without a word.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Evenings were when the village was quieter. The twinkling lights along the streets cast a soft glow, but there was hardly any activity going on. Everyone had gone home to be with their families, only the sounds of the tavern bustling about.

Three hours passed.

A feeling of anxiety began to eat away at me. The thought of losing him filled me with dread. Dylan was the only family I had left. At times like these, I often thought about father, he always knew what to do.

Walked around the village a few more times, worry starting to fill my mind, as if Dylan had disappeared without a trace.

The night gradually covered the scene. But still, there was no sign of the boy.

That is until I heard a small cry coming from the alley nearby, at the end of the village. Though hesitant, I decided to look inside. A pang of concern shot through me as I spotted Dylan curled up on the ground, his small body trembling with sobs. I rushed over and knelt down next to him.

"Dylan, what's wrong?"

Tears streamed down Dylan's face as he looked up at me. His clothes were covered in dirt and there were a few small scratches on his knees, forehead and cheeks. It looked like someone had hit him. As I pulled Dylan to his feet, I realized that one of his legs was limping, blood pooled in the scrape on his knee.

"What happened?..."

His voice was hoarse with emotion.

"They...they hit me..."

Used the hem of my shirt, I tried to wipe away the tears.

"Did you steal again?..."

"No...no. Those bastards, they beat me...they robbed me!..."

A lump formed in my throat as I listened to him. It was the rich people's bullying again. It wasn't the first time this had happened. Worse, this time it happened to Dylan. Those damn dukes, nobles, even the bullies in the village. They always found ways to oppress the weak.

Maybe God really hates us when these misfortunes happen for no reason.

"You shouldn't have gone out without telling me first..."

I wrap my arms around his trembling body, pulling him into a comforting embrace. Stroking his back gently, I tried to offer some reassurance.

"I wanted it to be a surprise for you..."

"Surprise?"

From his pocket, he pulled out a delicate necklace adorned with a lapis lazuli pendant. The ocean blue stone shimmering with an ethereal glow under the soft moonlight.

"...happy birthday..."

"For me?...Where did you get it? And how?..."

He sat up straight, wiped away his tears with a trembling hand, and let out a soft sniffle.

"I saved up...It wasn't that expensive..."

He has been running errands and saving money all year long, just to buy me something nice. Turns out this is the reason behind why he always asks to go out and come home late at night.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I thought about the efforts of the boy, a child with boundless compassion. Though small and simple, it holds great value, a treasure I will always cherish.

"...I don't know how to thank you enough....It's beautiful"

"I'm glad you're happy...I know there are hardships and difficulties...but...you always try to take care of them...Thank you for always trying..."

"...For us..."

He never forgot, even when I stopped caring about the day I was born.

After returning home, I helped Dylan up to his room, sitting him on the bed. I carefully wiped his fresh wounds before starting to treat them.

"We're out of antiseptic and bandages...I'll go get some, you rest."

Without a word, he gave a slight nod then settled down onto the bed.

There was only one infirmary in the village. Oliva was the owner of this place. She was a gentle and kind person. Oliva had gone to the academy then returned to help the villagers because of the lack of people with healing knowledge. To me, she was an inspiration, someone I wanted to look up to in the future.

I gently knocked on the wooden door of the infirmary.

"Oliva...are you there?"

The door creaked open, revealing Olivia in her casual clothes. The lingering scent of medicine and the dim fireplace light created a sense of comfort and warmth.

"Lia, what's wrong?"

"I...I need bandages and antiseptic"

She remained mostly silent. Perhaps she was used to me coming here to ask for help.

I remembered the first time I met Oliva. I could still picture myself, a tearful child, sitting by the canal, weighed down by the taunts of bullies. She brought me to the infirmary and took pity on me, Olivia treated me without asking for anything in return.

I wished I could be more than just a beggar.

Oliva came out of the medicine room, holding a new roll of bandages and a small bottle of antiseptic.

"Here you go"

"...I...I'll pay you later..."

She slightly shook her head.

"No need to. Helping others is the right thing to do"

My heart heavy with gratitude.

I'm not the carefree type, to be honest, I felt useless and pathetic.

When I got home, Dylan had fallen asleep, forgetting his pain and sorrow for a moment. I sat quietly on the edge of the bed, gently holding his hand and treating the wound carefully.

Dylan stirred, he winced slightly when he felt the burning sensation of the antiseptic seeping through the open wound but didn't complain. He was used to this, once then many times, it was no big deal anymore.

After finishing, I returned to my room. With thoughts running wild, food was always in short supply and the money we earned was getting less and less. At this rate, selling herbs alone wouldn't be enough to sustain us.

We had to find another way, but what could we do. No one will accept child labor for a bargain price. There were times when our meager earnings couldn't cover even a single meal, forcing us to wander the streets, heads bowed in shame, begging for food. At the end of the road, we would have to go to an orphanage, leaving the house and property behind.

I didn't want that.

My eyes darted around the room, desperately searching for a ray of hope. Only stopping at the appearance of the poppies on the table next to the old lamp. During a harvest trip, out of curiosity about their bright red color, I had picked them a few days ago by the small lake in the pine forest.

The poppy plant, Papaver somniferum, is the source of opium. It was a special herb that was banned in the empire. But on the black market, poppies are still sold illegally at exorbitant prices.

The poppy is often used to make poison. While poppy plants are known to exist, specific studies on them are scarce. It is only known that they are very rare. There are many different types, the rarer the higher the price.

Perhaps there is really no other way.